


The Gang's Back

by Random_ag



Series: Sides of an Inky Coin [3]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Allison is a huge lesbian may God (aka Lacie) have mercy on her soul, Based on a Tumblr Post, Eska is some kinda lizard man, Henry has weird priorites I think, Joey gets punched in the dick, Kim would like to die, Niamh knows no fear, This Is STUPID, Two Minds One Body, specifically islandguardiantapumeme's everybody gets saved AU, where theyre all ok but great googly moogly its all gone to shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 20:34:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15081206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_ag/pseuds/Random_ag
Summary: Finally, the Ink Machine had been destroyed. Hell was over.And, not even three seconds after, a new one started.





	The Gang's Back

**Author's Note:**

> It took me ages to finish this holy heck

Sammy woke up, and immediately felt like something was missing.

Upon further inspection, it was his shirt.

He sat on the floorboards - causing a terrible clamp to painfully close on his brain - and took a good look at himself: he was a grumpy, half naked, possibly hungover man with ink soaked pants and he did not like it one single bit.

Jumping up he made his way out of his sanctuary (what the hell were those writings?) as angry as could be. Johnny was on the floor near the piano in the orchestra room, slowly regaining conciousness; unluckily for him, he was the first living being the furious music director laid his eyes on.

“WHERE THE HELL IS IT?!”

The organist winced, forced completely awake by the shout. He looked up, vision still hazy, and encountered Sammy’s fierce glare.

“Where’s what?”

“My SHIRT, you damn imbecile!”

“How should I kn…” Johnny’s face fell on the other’s figure. His voice died and eyes widened, stupefied. He could feel his mouth drying as he very slowly started talking again: “Are you sure you want it back?”

“Of course I am! What the hell are you talking about?”

His friend pointed silently at his stomach.

Sammy looked down. Holy shit.

He could almost understand Johnny’s reaction. Surely he hadn’t expected a six pack to be on the body of someone who spent most of his time sitting.

Still, this didn’t change things. Actually it really just made him want his shirt back even damn more.

He stomped his way all over the second floor, Johnny trailing behind him as he yelled at more and more half-alseep musicians until Jack showed up, damp in pitch black ink.

“What the hell, Lawrence? Don’t make our headaches worse, Jesus…”

“Don’t you notice something missing from me?!?”

“Yeah, so?”

“SO SOMEBODY MUST HAVE TAKEN IT!!”

“Well, nobody here has anything of yours.”

“AH AH. Really funny. Where in the fuck did you guys put my damn shirt?”

Jack shrugged, honest: “We don’t know, Sam, we swear! I woke up down in the sewers and the boys were just… Laying around here, for no reason.”

If he’d been a cartoon, steam would have left Sammy’s boiling ears. He hid his face in one of his hands, unaware of some of the band members peeking at his half naked figure in awe.

“Oh, I see how it is, I see.” he grumbled to himself, “Alright, Wally, don’t push it. Come on out and show me where you hid my shirt while I was drunk.”

The musicians caught a glimpse of his mouth moving again, his voice barely audible; then, to their surprise, his eyes widened and he became whiter than he’d already been.

Jack had a fatal intuition.

The shirt wasn’t the only thing missing.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Henry panted as his eyes trailed on the collapsing Ink Machine.

He regretted losing his companions, but now, at least, they were in a better place.

Finally, hell was over.

He could leave.

Or at least, so he thought, as he walked wearily towards the exit. Instead, he suddenly found his way blocked by a figure appeared out of nowhere - well, to be fair, it simply walked out of a previously locked door.

The creature eyed his ink stained axe; immediately it raised its hands, just as scared as the old man.

In a very human, very clear voice it said: “Sir, sir, please put that thing down! You’re gonna hurt somebody!”

“Who are you?!”

“I-I’m Kim Grosso, sir, I work here. At the Heavenly Toys department, on the third floor? What the hell have you even bein’ doin’ with that, it’s… Who are  _you_?”

“I, uh… I… I’m a friend of… of Joey’s.” Henry lowered his weapon. The other man looked pretty young, no older than thirty. How could he have been working in the Studios? Maybe he got stuck there and was lying out of panic at the sight of an armed stranger in his same condition.

He reached for Kim, not allowing a single word to escape his mouth, grabbed him and began dragging him towards the exit.

“Sir, wait!”

“Don’t worry, we’re free now. We can just go back home-”

“Sir, no, listen, we need to, uh… We need to find the staff manager first, I need, to, to tell her some things.”

Kim did not expect that to work. He truly didn’t think that crazy man weilding an axe would have just nodded, released him from his iron grip and meekly asked him to lead the way.

Well, now he just had to find Niamh. She should have been… Oh God. He realized he had no idea. Why did it feel like it had been ages since he’d last seen her?

His mind went wild. If he couldn’t find her, what would have happened? Would the man go bonkers again? Would he get angry? Would he hit him? Cut him? Was he seriously going to die murdered by a possibly homeless psycopath who had broken into the Studios overnight?

A door opened suddenly and a plump figure emerged massaging her temples.

He blessed her silently: “Ma’am, thank goodness! We were looking for you!”

“UGH… What is it?” she muttered.

“Well, we might have a, uhm… Unexpected visitor.” Kim looked a little concerned at the man behind him. With all of his heart he prayed for nothing bad to happen.

The stranger’s eyes widened: “Niamh?” he exclaimed, voice filled with surprise and happiness, “Niamh O’Flannel?”

Niamh gave him an annoyed stare; then she squinted her eyes, and took a better look at him. Her jaw dropped.

“Henry?!”

The old man opened his arms and she ran right into them, squeezing him and laughing like mad. She grabbed his cheeks as soon as she broke free, astonished. 

“Jesus shitting CHRIST, Henry, you did not fucking age well. Nine years pass and you already look like y’could be me dad.”

“Thanks.”

Kim raised his hand politely: “I believe to be having a confusion.”

“Used to be the co-founder of this hellhole, got mcfucking fired and that’s why Joey has no impulse control.” Niamh answered in the blink of an eye.

“Exaustive.”

“Wait, nine- What did you mean by ‘nine years’?”

“… it’s 1942?”

“Niamh, it’s 1978! It’s been thirty years!”

“It really hasn’tohmy sweet fUCKING GOD WHERE THE FUCK DID THAT AXE COME FROM”

“I needed it!”

“NO YOU DIDN’T!”

“I had to defend myself!”

“FROM WHAT, THE FUCKING CUTOUTS??”

“FROM  _BENDY_!”

Niamh’s eyes had never been wider.

The old animator took a breath, rubbing his temples.

Kim sat down, suddenly interested.

“Alright.” Henry said, “Guess it’s story time.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

First came strong light that managed to break through the filter of his eyelids and hit him, to his displeasure, straight in the pupil.

Then a voice reached his ears, worried, with about two other ones buzzing in the back: “Mr… Franks? Are, are you alright?”

The first image he met was Allison’s face kneeled over him. As he focused he recognized, behind her, Thomas’ scruffy visage and Susie’s angelic features.

“Hi there, Ms. Pendle…” he breathed weakly in his strong Brooklyn accent, “What happened?”

“We’re, uh… Not sure? We kinda feel like we’d gotten ourselves one too many drinks.”

“Yeah, me too. Sammy will flip his shit when he wakes up.”

A strong arm reached for him and pulled him up: “There, there, my beautiful idiot son. Don’t push yourself.”

Wally grimaced, still allowing himself to be lifted: “Don’t call me like that.”

“Why not?”

“Cos’ I ain’t stupid!”

“Don’t raise your voice, please.” a sweet, musical voice reached him. It made him shiver in fear, but he couldn’t understand why.

Susie smiled sweetly: “We’re all having headaches, darling.”

“S’rry. Feel a little lightheaded.”

“We noticed.” Thomas commented, deadpan. One of his hands was engulfed in what looked like a mechanical glove.

Strange.

He hadn’t showed up yet.

Wally spaced out a little, staring absent-mindedly at Allison’s sword as she talked to Susie, maybe apologizing for something. Their voices sounded soft in the back of his head as he quietly checked every little nook in his mind.

He tried eliminating all noise.

It was awfully quiet.

The other three were taken aback by his sudden shaking. His breath was irregular, his eyes began to water, his hands tightened into fists, but one couldn’t, there was something in it, it was stopping him, what the hell was it-

He shoved the bone in his mouth and crunched it rhythmically, like a maniac. A couple of tears still managed to fall down his cheeks, but at least he wasn’t freaking out anymore.

Thomas tightened his grip on him a little, while Allison and Susie were taking turns in asking him what was wrong, clearly worried.

He kept chomping until he was sure he could talk.

His voice was wavering.

“Sammy isn’t here.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sometimes a man knows exactly what he’s doing and why is he doing it.

He knows what is happening and is in control of the situation, even when the situation is downright insane.

Now.

Joey had absolutely no batshit idea why in the hell was he in the vents.

He vaguely rembered chasing Henry and trying to stop him from destroying the Machine (though to be fair being a litteral demon had been proven way less fun than he’d actually expected, so maybe he should have just let him) but then all of a sudden everything had gone black.

And now he was stuck in an air duct, with no plan on where to go or how to avoid being seen by anyone as he swiftly left the building never to return.

Oh well, he thought as he crawled forward. He would have managed something.

He  _was_  Joey Drew, after all.

Maybe here he should have turned… Left? Alright, left. Then right, and then… straight on. He remembered going this way, ok, he was doing this!

He was going to get out in the blink of an eye.

Except he wasn’t, and this goddamn way didn’t lead anywhere outside of an empty room. He punched the grate in front of him in frustration.

A head suddenly turned in the room, unnoticeable at first because of how still it was. A pair of mismatched eyes stared down at Joey’s soul. He gulped, a drop of colder than ice sweat drawing a line on the side of his face.

The longest minute of his life passed.

Then Eska climbed up to him with the same exact look the angriest serial killer who had ever set foot on Earth would have had and the animator screamed in legitimate terror, scuttling all the way back from where he came from as the psycothic young salamander-man wannabe furiosly chased him.

* * *

Waking up to ominous writings on the walls of his office almost scared Grant.

However, it was Shawn’s sudden snore that had taken the cake and made him jump on his chair.

“What in the sweethearted hell?!” he cussed loudly.

The toy maker jolted awake with a startled yell. His hands immediately went to grab the sides of his head as he painfully bowed it.

Lacie kicked him in the ribs, still laying on the floor, grumbling something about toning his voice down and how noisy he was.

The accountant gave the other two the time to come to slowly regain full conciousness. Once they looked up, faces a little red, he decided to ask: “Why are you two here?”

“Uh… Good question.” Shawn scratched his ear.

“Is that all you have to say?”

“Yep.”

“Your uselessness never ceases to amaze me.”

“Shut yer mouth, Cohen.”

“Well,” Lacie began rising on her feet despite her headache, “You try and find an answer to that. I’ll be going back to work before any moron messes up one of the rides for good.”

Shawn’s eyes lighted up.

“Ya can’t try them.”

The Irishman made an offended face: “I wasn’t gonna ask that!” he painfully clearly lied, “I was gonna say, since none a’ those shmucks can do their job, ye could let us help you!”

Grant’s eyes turned into suspicious slots. Shawn knew damn well he had no idea how to get something mechanical done.

“Actually it’d just me to help you.” the younger man corrected himself, “Grant will simply watch us like the old man he is.”

Oh. Good. He remembered it.

The mechanic looked up to the accountant. He shrugged with a very tired sigh, and the three of them set off to the Bendy Land prototype.

(“Hey, do you guys always have to go over this hellpit of death to get to work?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. A’ight. I was just, y’know. Curious.”)

Lacie gave a frustrated groan reading “Bendy Hell” on the welcoming sign. She muttered a ‘bunch’a morons, really’ through her teeth and ordered Jamison (currently stuck on top of a cage, for some reason) to clean that up; then, apparently forgetting the men who had trailed after her, she went straight to the octopus ride. Out of all attractions, it was the most fragile.

Shawn and Grant found themselves almost completely alone in the skeleton of an amusement park.

Immediately the accountant snatched Shawn’s wrist away out of reflex, a second before the other could grab a ball on one of the counters.

“She said not to touch anything.”

“You seriously  _are_  an old man. And boring too.”

“Fight me about it.”

The Irishman stuck his tongue out like an anrgy baby.

A loud ‘what’ reached them. They ran towards the scream, worried about Lacie’s well-being; but as soon as they entered the octopus ride’s room Shawn couldn’t help but start wheezing so inhumanly, he had to grab the Jewish man’s shoulder to sustain himself.

Lacie was speechless, jaw dropped.

Grant inhaled sharply.

“ _How?_ ” he finally questioned.

“Stop staring and help me get out!” Bertrum shouted, stuck upside-down in the engines of the Whipper Will-O.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Henry finished telling his tale, Niamh nodded in an understanding manner.

“That is  _the_  most fucked up cocaine induced fever dream I have ever heard.” was the final verdict.

“… That’s a way to put it.”

“At least it can explain why everything here looks like it’s gone shithive maggots.” Kim pointed out.

The Irish woman looked at him amazed.

“You can curse?”

“… Yes? I just… don’t do it very often.”

“Holy fuck, Kim, I thought you were physically incapable or some shit. I couldn’t have survived a day without cussing my damn lungs out in this hell.” she seemed incredibly impressed. “You must be great with kids.”

He flushed softly, looking down at his feet.

Henry gave her a judgemental look: “Can’t say the same for you.”

She simply shrugged.

“Either way, we better get out.” the old animator clenched the axe in his hands and checked their sorroundings suspicious: “I’m not sure wether or not ‘Bendy’ is still around.”

The definitely younger ex-employees followed him all the way to the main hall.

(Niamh complained softly about her missing shoe, swearing she had been wearing both that day; Kim remembered seeing it in Joey’s office.

“Why’d it be there?”

“I don’t know.”

“You want us to get it, Niamh?”

“No, I really wanna limp all the way outside.”

“Let’s go find it.”)

They weren’t even halfway there, when a loud stomp announced a foe approaching - no, wait, it was just a very tall man, coughing a little, who looked really a lot like… Like…

“Norman?”

The old projectionist raised his quite human head: “Good morning, ma’am. Kim. And… Uh…”

“We thought you’d quit!”

“Or died.”

“Died? Who the hell spread that rumor?”

“Oh, no one. But Jolene sounded like Joey killed you or something.”

“He probably did.” Henry muttered.

Norman turned his gaze on him again, a little suspicious: “I didn’t really catch your name.”

“I’m… I’m Henry. You know, the animator.”

“Oh, right. Eh, yeah, I can see the resemblance, now that you mention it. You look older than I remembered.”

“Thanks.”

“Now- what was that about Joey killing me?”

Niamh rubbed her hands and grinned, like fly about to reveal its evil plan: “Well sit down and buckle up, you decrepit piece of shit, ‘cause you’re in for a telling of Henry’s fucked up cocaine induced fever dream featuring several horrifying creatures directly from your nightmares, special guest YOU as a mindless inky abomination with a projector for head.”

After a second of silence, Norman grabbed a chair and quietly got himself comfortable.

“Now you’ve got me curious.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

They wouldn’t have stopped so long on the lower levels if Thomas hadn’t heard a familiar pained scream coming from one of the attraction’s rooms.

It was the exact scream, as he put it before bolting towards the source of the sound, “that Shawn does when Grant slaps the back of his head after he’s asked someone to fight him”.

The accuracy was quite shocking. So was the fact that it was exactly what had happened about seconds before they broke into the Whipper Will-O’s room and the gruff mechanic swooped both the accountant and the toy maker in a bone-crushing hug before they could start arguing.

(They couldn’t get Bertrum out, no matter how hard they pulled.

Lacie had blamed, more than Grant’s not exactly fit shape, which was still pretty respectable for someone so on in years, Shawn’s weak biceps.

He’d gotten offended, and with offense came firing up, yelling at that Apalachian mountain of a woman to fight him and Grant slapping him to calm him down.

The dramatic toy maker had reacted accordingly.)

The Irishman forgot everything that had gotten him so angry in a second as soon as he realized whose arms were trying to snap his backbone: “TOMMY!!” he shouted, hugging the other back.

Grant would have also rejoiced for their reunion, but he was busy. Precisely, he was staring at Wally and asking, pointing disturbed at the bone in his mouth: “Is that a human femur?!”

The janitor raised his shoulders and kept on munching.

“Hi there, ms. Benton.” Thomas finally said to the other mechanic once his must-hold-frail-friends rush had burned out.

“Hi there, Connor.”

Bertrum coughed, still upside-down, and the two fugitive stone golems focused on him.

“Wanna help me get him out?”

“Yeah, sure. Just a second, I gotta put these down.”

Allison softly pulled Susie’s elbow. She was more scarlet than a lobster as she pointed at Lacie’s huge arms.

“Is it normal to want to be crushed by those?” she asked as quietly as possible.

Susie held her hand in a comforting manner: “Yes. Yes, it is, dear.”

A loud thunk, and Bertrum Piedmont’s face hit the floor.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sammy would have absolutely loved not having the whole music department at his heels as he was looking for something to cover himself with.

Especially since he could hear their not-so-quiet whispers about his anatomy which was apparently  _so fine_ , it had caused some to start to thoroughly question and reconsider their tastes in love.

The oppressive silence in his brain didn’t help his mood at all.

Maybe he’d find something in the floor above.

Humming to cover the lack of sounds inside his mind, he ran up the stairs, dinstancing himself a little from his co-workers. Hopefully Jack could handle them in case he managed to make them lose sight of him.

The first thing his eyes encountered was Norman Polk’s face. They then trailed down, without giving him time to process the new information, and recognized Kim;he suddenly remembered they had to rotoscope him for a song. His mouth began opening, mechanical.

“Cover your shame, Lawrence.” Niamh interrupted his scanning, and his trail of thought came back on track.

“Well, I WOULD if I could find on- wait, is that Henry?”

“Yep.”

“God, you got old.”

“Thanks.”

“Do any of you happen to have a spare shirt?”

“Nope.”

“Fucking great.”

He could hear the others stomping their way up the stairs; soon enough Johnny headbutted his back, shoved onto him by Jack and half of Joey Drew Studios’ orchestra.

“I have an idea.” the staff manager announced resolute.

With no esitation whatsoever, she tried shoving her dress off. And she would have succeded, had Kim not grabbed it lightning quick to keep it up.

“Ma’am, no!”

“Unhand me, Kim.”

“Yeah, unhand her!” a voice came from the musicians’ flock.

The Irish woman raised her head and pierced the culprit with an icy glare: “Wanna get yer face fucked up, Jacob?”

The trombone player shrunk in his shoulders: “No, ma’am.” he whispered.

“Then shut yer trap. Now let me take this off.”

“Niamh, no.”

“Drop it.”

“You may know no fear but I sure do.”

“Kim, I appreciate your intentions but I swear to the majestic motherfucker that is our Lord, I will cut a hole in your stomach with my elbow if you don’t let take off my dress to cover Lawrence before some of his fellas decide to jump on him.”

Very carefully, Norman and Henry joined the younger man in keeping Niamh from undressing herself as Sammy muttered, quite pale and embarassed, that he’d really rather not wear it, thank you anyway. Jack gave a fatherly stare at the others to keep their hormones in check as Johnny moved them away from the stairs before any of them fell and broke their necks.

The staff manager looked utterly displeased.

“All of you are cowards.” she hissed.

Norman squinted his eyes to take a better look at the music department’s director: “Was he like that when you met him?” he then asked Henry.

“We already met?”

“Well, yes, but you were some kind of cultist.”

Sammy choked on his own saliva: “I was a  _what_  now?”

“You got it good, too. Jack there was a bunch of ink in the vague shape of a person and-”

“Did I still have my hat?”

“Yes, apparently.”

The lyricist sighed in relief, letting the older man continue: “- I was saying, and you guys back there were probably all turned like him. Except for Johnny. Johnny was stuck in the… Piano? No wait, was it the piano or the organ?”

“The organ.”

Hearing that made the organist lose all color in his face. “Yikes. I’m so glad I don’t remember that.”

“Why?” asked Jeremy, who used to play the clarinet.

“Have you ever  _seen_  the inside of an organ? It’s like an iron maiden, but _worse_.” he shivered in horror, “I wouldn’t put my worst enemy in there.”

“At least you didn’t have to die twice, or get beheaded.” Kim said, patting his friend’s back, “Or get electrocuted by ms. Campbell.”

“I would have done what to who?” an angelic voice reached the already crowded hall. Susie’s head popped up from the stairs, Allison right beside her.

“Oh, hi there.” the first Alice voice actor happily said, looking around to meet all of the musicians’ familiar faces, “What are we all doing?”

Allison was more concentrated on Henry’s, her naturally big eyes squinting a little in a puzzled gaze. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d seen him before, but where and when, she just didn’t know.

She was just about to ask, when a loud Irish scream came from her back and Shawn shot himself at his not-sister, trampling the other two women and getting a punch of amazing proportions on his nose in the process.

Grant showed up soon after, Thomas close behind. Unlike the mechanic, he completely ignored their friend’s possibly dead body: “Hello, Niamh.”

“Hello Grant. Did you know we’ve been through some tough weird ass shit?”

“Is it because of Joey?”

“Actually yes.”

“What a surprise. Henry, is that you?”

“Yup. Hi.”

“Hi. Thought you’d look younger.”

“Thanks.”

Lacie arrived right then, greeting everyone with a sardonic: “Good afternoon, ya morons.” and helping Susie and a particularly red faced Allison to their feet. Bertrum grumbled something, leading his workers (and the guy in charge of the hellpit of death ‘chair lift’, such Malone Badwill, recognizable for his miner cap) up the stairs and adjusting his top hat.

Thomas, aided by Kim, was still trying to revive the toy maker when the last man managed to join basically the whole Studio in that incredibly big hall.

The horribly loud chatter almost immediately ceased. Everybody looked at him and at the music department director, going back and forth countless times between the two in astonishment.

Sammy stared wide eyed at his own face. Slowly he raised his arm to point a it and finally shouted: “WHO?”

Wally gave a nervous, shrieking chuckle, dropping the bone in his mouth, and threw himself at the other, almost tackling him to the ground. They hugged violently, looking about to beat the living daylights out of each other.

“WHERE THE HELL WERE YOU?!” the musician yelled, “I ALMOST HAD A PANIC ATTACK!!”

“BOLD OF YOU TO ASSUME I _DIDN’T_!!” replied the janitor with the widest smile he could put on his face, shoving it back against the other in a fit of euphoria and another wave of mad giggling.

“What the heck am I seeing?” Jack muttered in Norman’s ear.

The projectionist didn’t even flinch: “They’re two now.” he said, completely calm, as if witnessing the physical reunion of two personalities who used to be in a single body and now had each one if his own wasn’t anything abnormal.

Still utterly puzzled, the lyricist could do nothing but nod.

The two finally divided again,only for the janitor’s eyes to fall on his old brainmate’s chest cruelly exposed to the harsh climate.

“Ya forgot something?” he asked, still chuckling a little, “Or ya wanna show off?”

The musician looked down on himself, once again reminding him of his constantly neglected desire to cover his body. He babbled a couple of embarassed sentences.

Luckily, his ex-second personality had already strapped himself of his own shirt and was generously offering it to him.

“Now you’ll need one too, though.”

“Nah, that’s what this is for.” Wally stated, proudly pointing at his overalls’ bib.

Sammy made a bitter grimace as he buttoned the coveted garment up to many people’s dismay: “Well, you still look godawful in it.”

“Well, you still had to borrow my shirt,  _Samuel_.”

“Shut the fuck up, Walter.”

Shawn, miraculously back to life, leaned into his saviours’ ears: “It’s like they’re one person again and we’re in their brain.” he whispered, unable to take his eyes off the two bickering.

“Nightmarish.” Thomas muttered in response.

A tremendous noise resonated.

A couple of seconds after, Joey Drew slammed himself face first into the pavement from a vent and cussed loudly.

Raising his head he immediately encountered a familiar, furious face between about a hundred stupefied stares.

“Henry!” he smiled, faker than a dead opossum, “Time has surely made you… Seasoned, my friend!”

“Thanks.” the animator’s tone was so cold it nearly froze the room.

Joey swallowed.

He was fucked, wasn’t he.

Before Henry could unleash his rage on him, however, an unholy screech erupted from the vent in the room; Drew moved away just in time, and Eska arrived, falling on the floor in the perfect replica of a cat jumping down a tree. Good thing Thomas and Lacie happened go be right behind him to constrict him in their unbreakable arms, or his little skeletal fingers would have torn Joey’s face apart in seconds.

Several yells arose from everybody else, ranging from ‘is that a goblin’ to ‘you litteraly hung yourself! How are you still here??’ until Johnny voiced the ensuing confusion with a single, simple shout: “WHAT THE FUCK!?”

The factotum ignored the question entirely.

“PUNCH HIM IN THE DICK!” he screamed, still restrained by the mechanics.

Henry didn’t think twice, and delivered a fist to his old friend’s meridional regions, making him double over with a throttled cry. 

Grant saw the opportunity of a lifetime and punched him as well; Niamh preferred shoving a kick in there, while Susie shot a fistful of anger where the Sun barely shined. Bertrum found it a good way for Drew to repay his repeated offenses and gave a hit as well. Shawn decided, since everybody was in on it and he always liked a good tussle,  to join and slam a punch in there too.

Soon enough everyone, for a reason or the other, had punched Joey at least once and he was on the floor weeping like a child.

“Enough, enough.” Henry firmly said, dissipating the ex-employees with a wave of the hand. “I think this old liar’s learnt his lesson. Now get in the car, I’m bringing you guys home.”

“Sir, you don’t mean you’ll actually take circa a hundred people who were probably believed dead for about thirty years each to their individual home on your single car, right?” Kim tried asking.

“Of course not, I don’t know were everyone’s families are. I’m gonna take you all to my home and then find you some other sistemation.”

The toy maker nodded, biting his lip. He bent backwards as if his whole skeleton had been made of jelly and had his body roll on the floorboards until he was completely sprawled on them. “Please pretend I’m dead for a minute.” his hopeless voice came out muffled, since his face was facing down.

Niamh and Shawn joined their hands in prayer.

“The world shall forever mourn the loss of the most handsome fucking man to have ever walked on it.”

“May this magnificent, polite bastard’s sick ass dance moves live on in the Heavens above.”

“What the hell are you two doing?”

“Honoring the loss of our pal and lad on the day of his death, you insensitive piece of arse caked in shite.”

“This is so touching, I need to join. Somebody fetch me my organ so I can play something for my lost fella.”

“How do you fetch an organ-”

“FOCK YES, mournfully smash those keys, Johnny!”

“Hold on Niamh, there’s a thing our lad would have loved to tell you.”

“That’s not in my last will, Shawn.”

“Well dead men don’t talk,  _Kim_ , now let me finish.”

“I’m pretty sure a minute has passed.”

“It hasn’t.”

“Fuck.”

“YA CAN CURSE??”

“Amazing, right?”

“YA MEAN HE CURSED BEFORE?”

“I didn’t expect him to do it again either.”

“Hello? We gotta go, get in the car.”

“HOLD ON OLD MAN, I’M SHOCKED.”

“Punch him in the dick.”

“No Eska, we already did.”

“Punch him in the dick.”

“I said no.”

“I had to strangle myself to escape him, I get to punch him in the dick as much as I goddamn please.”

“You really don’t.”

“I do. I make the rules now. The rules say I get to punch him in the dick.”

“Really. Did you become God?”

“No, but I’ll kill him if necessary.”

“… What in the fuck are you?”

“The man who will punch God in the dick and kill him.”

“I’m starting up in five minutes, hurry up or I’m leaving you here.”

“So I can cut my hair now.”

“I guess so.”

“ALLISON, GIVE ME YOUR SWORD A MINUTE!”

“Her wHAT- you’re not cutting your hair with a sword!”

“But I can’t stand the damn ponytail!”

“Just wait till we get some scissors, Jesus!”

“Uff… Oh hey, we’re gonna need a new bed.”

“Wally, we shared a body for the last twenty-seven years, we are not starting to sleep separated  _now_.”

“That’s the point! We need a bigger bed, ours is too small for two.”

“You’re a goddamn nuisance.”

“You sound like a married couple.”

“Shut up Susie, you know I hate him.”

“You are litteraly hugging right now.”

“So are you and Allison.”

“Can’t two women just have a friendly embrace?”

“You’ve been at it for thirty minutes.”

“Don’t judge me!”

“ARE YOU GONNA GET IN OR NOT?”

Already squashed on the front seat, Joey looked sadly at his old friend.

“You’re mad at me, aren’t you?“

“Absolutely.”

“So I guess you’re turning me in? Bringing me to the police, going ‘cuff him boys, he’s done some weird bad shit’, and then letting me rot in jail?”

“Oh, no.”

The animator’s eyes lit up, filled with hope.

“No sane person’s gonna believe this story. You’ll be staying with me and Linda.”

Joey’s smile faltered at the speed of sound.

Wally butted in: “Wasn’t that your girlfriend or somethin’?”

“She was.” nodded Norman, “Joey never liked her much, did he?”

“He’ll have to like her now. She’s my wife.” Henry added with a smile.

From the trunk came Niamh’s strong, unrestrained laugh.

Eska sat on his ex-boss’ shoulders. “You’ll get treated well.” he muttered mischievously, his white teeth poking from the wooden skull mask on his face.

Joey felt like he could have died there and then.

If that was his punishment for all of his sick shit, well, fuck. Lucifer could have toned it down a little.


End file.
